Kane: Memories of a Masked Man
by isiahd
Summary: Just an old story, that i thought was amusing at the time


Tale of a Masked Man  
  
Sat in the dark, alone, masked in pain, in constant pain, made to be a loner, driven insane, hands burnt, head hung low. Memories are a painful thing, made more painful by all the acts of betrayal, betrayal by those that one should be able to hold dear, acts of betrayal from family, from ones you have learnt that you should love whole heartedly, ones that only the coldest of heart would ever believe could taunt torture a loved one.  
  
This is finally the story of Kane, this is his history, this is his pain, his torment, it is a tale of lost innocence, the tale of family deceptions, the story of a child abused by the world, torn from all humanity, a monster maybe, but a monster made by those he loved.  
  
It will start as early as he can remember, before the pain started, before darkness crept into his soul and tortured it beyond despair, a time when he truly was an innocent, a time when the sun held no hidden horrors, no dark foreboding, a time when he, yes even he could go out and play as all small children loved to do, a time when he could smile, without the pain it caused making him wince in agony.  
  
The Time of Innocence  
  
He remembered running from the house, giggling as all very young children do, running to the small tree house at the back of the garden, looking up having water thrown down from above by his older brother, faces not clear, faces have never been clear to Kane, not since the day of the fire, not since the pain started. Shaking his head, feeling the cold water flick around him, the sun still high up in the sky, he climbed, clambering as hard as he could, his short chubby legs doing all a toddler could to climb the towering tree as he then saw it. He remembered being pushed, he should of on insight thought then that there was something dark about his brother, something hidden that he and no one else could see, and yet he and his mother, yes he remembers his mother, more her smile, and the warmth and safety she always seemed to bring with her whenever she appeared, seemed oblivious to his darker side.  
  
He remembered, her coming to him as he let out a loud scream, one of his legs broken, he remembered her lifting him up smiling, such a warm beautiful smile, if anyone ever asked, which they never do, what his definition of love was he would of answered without hesitating, the smile a mother gives to one of her children when they are in distress. Yes he remembered these things in deep clarity, he remembered them well as it fueled the hatred he now has found reborn against his older brother. He could even remember just how good his mother smelt, what the scent was he could not say, but it was good and it was her, lost now and forever by an act of cowardice, an act so heinous, he still could not comprehend.  
  
She had never had a day that she did not bring happiness and warmth into his life, she was the world and he was quite happy to be part of it. His leg had healed in time, his brother a little older had started school, he had her all to himself, all day long till he returned. Their father however, he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember him at all, he remembered that he would spend time with his older brother, he remembered at times, he would feel saddened that his father could not look at him, and yet in those times his mother was there, ever present, ever supporting, ever loving.  
  
He remembered other days of blissful innocence of days long past, when he could hold his head up and be seen, days when he had no need to hide in darkness or cover his face, days without pain, and yet remembering them somehow made everything else harder to bear, all that was to come, and so he preferred to dwell on memories of a less pleasant time. A time where warmth and love had nothing to do with his daily existence, days that seemed to merge into pain and darkness, never ending, never stopping and these will be the days that follow, the days after the fire, the days after when he no longer was a child, the days he became the monster he now sees himself as.  
  
Monster in Making  
  
He was lost in pain, lost in the agony, the sight of his mother pushing her way into his room, her long beautiful dark red hair on fire, the skin on her arms bubbling in blisters, yes she did try to save him, and this memory is the one that haunts his nights, this is the one that drives him slowly insane, this is the one that makes him sleep, as big as he is with the lights firmly switched on.  
  
Coughing and choking his eyes streaming, vision impaired, he could make out his brothers bed on the other side of the room was empty, maybe their father had taken him out safely, he was confused, and frightened, he watched her fall, he saw her die, as he sat on his bed and the flames slowly engulfed the room. Passing out, thinking he would be joining his mother, wherever the place hereafter is, numb from the pain at the moment, wishing only to see her smile once more.  
  
Then the pain awoke him, the pain the never ending pain, the stench over taking his senses, the stench as he now knows of his own burnt flesh. He cried, and yet his eyes, seemed not to work, and as he cried the pain over took his small frame, made him pass out once more, into a darkened nightmare that seemed never ending, his mother smiling her face slowly being burnt away leaving a demonic scowling skull, bubbling blistering flesh on thin arms, beckoning at him to come closer, if he didn't move she wouldn't see him, if he made no sound she wouldn't hear him, and yet he wanted, wanted more than anything to be held in her arms, to be told everything was alright, that it was just a bad dream and everything would be good in the morning.  
  
Everything would be good in the morning, who he hates that phrase, who he hates all people that say such meaningless sentences. Nothing is ever better the next day, the morning is never better, it was never better to him.  
  
Days which merged into months, he lay unaware, being nursed roughly by unseen hands, being left sometimes for days to lay in his own mess, but being kept alive by the tubes and wires someone had attached to his frail youthful arms, the direct feeding tube that went down his nose and directly to his stomach. No longer was he what he should be what every child at the age of ten should be, he was a thing that lay on a dirty mattress, in a dark basement, with dirty long in need to be replaced bandages covering his limbs. Slowly, he came back to reality, the pain becoming a thing that he lived with, knowing if he made the slightest noise, the fat man would come and whip him, beat him till he could no longer tell which pain was worse, that of the burnt flesh, that seemed to cover his body, or the welts from the beating. He was told time and time again he was a monster, he was a thing that all people hated, that he in turn should hate them, hate them with a deepness that would create fear the moment he let his eye fall upon them. Eye? You say, eye? Yes eye, for now the child that he was had vision through one eye and one eye alone, the beatings and constant detrimental remarks, making him wonder if it was in fact true, had he by some mischance missed death only to become a monster, to be some fear inducing beast, that would do unto others, that which had been done to him?  
  
He soon learnt that the past was the past, that nothing he thought was true and real was, the fat man saw to that, the fat man, told him stories long into the night, he was frightened of the fat man, for he looked at him with some strangeness in his eyes, something he as a child could instinctively pick up on as unwholesome, evil and aimed at him. So he would do as the fat man told him, he would not talk, he would not answer back and above all he would do his best to forget that he had ever been loved. The fat man told him he was a source of power, the fat man told him he would avenge all the misdeeds done to him in the past, and the fat man told him he was his father, he was his creator, he was his benefactor, that without him, he would perish alone in the darkness, starve, or worse still be found and locked away as an abomination.  
  
He became the beast the fat man wanted, he lived in darkness, he became good at picking up on what the fat man wanted before he asked, and he learnt that talking was a thing to forget, which he did most quickly, answering the fat man if he was permitted with loud grunts and growls. He would be left weeks on end alone in the basement without food or water, the rats that found the place interesting became his main source of nourishment. The monster had truly been born.  
  
Lost Years Between Sanity and Insanity.  
  
He grew from childhood into manhood, he grew strong, his skin was pale more resembling that of the fresh dead, than that of a young healthy male in his prime, that is the skin which was not covered in red scars, the skin that didn't hurt and constantly remind him that he was less than human, that he was not meant to walk in the sunlight that he was not part of the world seen through others eyes. So the decent into madness was not a hard path to follow, insanity held promise, it held faint distantly remembered dreams of hope, of being what others see as normal, it promised many things but never delivered.  
  
The fat man had started to take more interest in him, a lot more interest, he had let him from his caged existence, let him roam the world above, let him back into the land he had left so long ago, out of the darkness and into blindingly painful sunlight, it hurt his eye the first time, he nearly, but didn't let out a cry of pain, firmly closing the lid protecting it from the dazzling light. He could recall sometime having known that the world outside of his four walls of darkness held some brightness, and yet he rebelled at this time against such memories, for they as the fat man kept telling him, were false, they were the seeds of madness, they were the things that he should forget, and so for the time being he had.  
  
The fat man never daunted by his over powering presence enjoyed feeding him with tiny bits of knowledge, fueled his hatred, telling him his brother was to blame for all that had happened to him, that his brother in one foul deed had taken his right of being human away, that his brother indeed was in league with the devil and therefore should be punished. For he and he alone had let the forces of darkness turn, Kane, a once sweet innocent child into the monster he now was, into the thing that any and all would cower and hide from, as starved of companionship and any other source of knowledge he lapped these things up with a vigor. The fat man also promised him, he his father, the only one that knew or cared of his being, would take him when he felt he was ready, to take untold vengeance on the one that had caused all the pain and suffering.  
  
He grew stronger, so strong, that the fat man at times feared what he had created and made him go back to the darkness to remember who had been his savior, and who he owed for living, all be it as a monster rather than a man. He grew much taller than the fat man had dreamed much more powerful than his wildest dreams had entertained, and so it was time he gave him the next lesson.  
  
The men in the white jackets came, they came and with darts, as they would use on a wild animal they made him fall, they took him from his room of darkened dreams and the fat man stood by smiling, telling him in a soft voice it would all be well, that he would once again save him, that he would take him from the living hell they were about to inflict upon him.  
  
The Asylum  
  
He paced around a room, a room with white walls, the brightness of which hurt his eye, his mask, the face he hid behind had been removed, they had him dressed in some kind of body suit which restrained his arms from moving, and so he paced, once more a prisoner, once more alone, once more being treated less than human. All the fat mans words, proving true, mankind did hate him, they did want to destroy him, and all these people, and all this hatred had been brought about by his brother, his brother, didn't the Dr in his coat white and crisp, keep saying brothers should love on another, didn't he keep saying that hating one's family was bad. He didn't know as he shut himself off, and let the voices float over him, watched as their mouths opened, acted like the animal they treated him as, and took the punishment they dished out silently.  
  
He remembered being taken, laying on his back to a room with machines all around he remembered as they stuck electrodes on his temples, he remembered as the one that had been his chief tormentor since they'd taken him from the fat man leered down at him, laughing. He remembered his exact words, he remembered. He also remembered breaking free from the bonds they had him tied in, and remembered removing the leering smile from the mans face for all eternity, yes he was a monster, but a monster that they with their cold and unnatural brutality had created. How they had shouted that day, and he as ever was silent, silent just as the fat man had taught him to be, silent when they came and knocked him down, silent as they over powered him and beat him till he could no longer move, and still he let his one cold eye, devoid of any emotion stare at them, letting them know they had not beaten him, merely stopped him for the time being.  
  
There were others that came and went, others that sometimes treated him as though he were nothing different than them, but he knew they were lying he knew they knew nothing of what he was, and he laughed deep inside his twisted tortured mind, where they could not hear and they could not see he laughed at them for believing he was but a misfortunate. As he knew the fat man kept his promises, he knew when the time was right he would come and claim him, take him from this place and set him free on the one he hated above all others.  
  
The Fat Man Cometh  
  
He didn't know how long they had kept him there or how long they would have kept him there, he had lost all sense of time, but he'd lost that the moment that his world changed and he cared not for it. They led him to another room, a room that was unlike anything he had seen before, and the fat man came, just as he said he would, just as he'd promised, with clothes made of red and a new mask, a new face to hide his disfigured appearance behind. He whispered to him, he told him the time was coming, he told him that now, he would be able to lead his son, out to take his rightful place, that he would make them all look and fear, and he would take him to his nemesis, he would unleash him upon his brother, and watch as he tore him apart, watch as the one that had caused his son, to lose his humanity, to become a monster, suffer.  
  
Yes the fat man had told him many things that day, and yes he had believed them all, as the fat man was all he trusted, all he knew to trust, so he followed some would say blindly, he followed him to the place he would learn that monsters are not real, that people no matter how they look or appear are just people, and that the fat man was also a slayer of trust, a betrayer of all, but this was a lesson long in the learning and for that he was and is still ashamed.  
  
Memories left behind for now  
  
So now alone he still is sat in a darkened room, once more betrayed by one he saw as a brother one more he had trusted, a friend, the one thing he could not remember ever having had, a friend the one that had taken time to re educate him into the way that men think, the one that had stayed beside him, when the fat man showed his true self, once more betrayed by a loved one, once more alone. Yet the word monster no longer made him hide in shame, the word monster had brought him fame and fortune, so there were a few things he could still thank the fat man for. He could thank him for setting him free; he could thank him for his life, although it lacked any resemblance to what he would have wished it to be.  
  
He was learning, that people do not truly fear monsters, as he had once thought, but they fear the monster within themselves, and had used this to entertain them, he was now a household name, he that thought himself worthless, a creature that should be locked away and forgotten, and he now could smile, even though the skin around his mouth pulled and brought forth a small amount of pain. He no longer had to fear, anyone, he no longer had to hide in the shadows, but he chose to do so, for he knew that monsters are real and most people who think themselves good and kind, are the monsters that haunt the dark hours. The ones that come home, that all respect, then start to drink, that tell their children they are less than they are, the ones that shout and howl at their siblings, that beat them, that bring forth fear instead of youthful smiles they are the true monsters, they are the ones that are seldom found.  
  
So he sits alone in the darkness, and knows he will be alone for the rest of his days, he knows that trust will be a thing he seldom gives out, and doubts he will ever trust another soul again. This does not make him, feel less than a man, it doesn't bring on the old nightmares, it just leaves him feeling empty, and tired, so he fastens his wrestling boots and heads out to the ring, to the loud explosive music awaiting for the pyrotechnics to go off, his opponent to enter the ring and stand opposite him, the bell to ring, and he knows life is but a game, some win, some lose. His time to win will come, and he will be ready when it does. 


End file.
